Return of the Damned
by Misguided Insanity
Summary: Five years have passed since the final battle and the world has gone on just the same without me. I'd much prefer if I could simply stay dead. I should be with my family after all these millennia apart, but the gods had other plans. I regretfully return to a world I no longer hold the desire to destroy. With nothing much to do, I suppose I'll see what my old partner has been up to.
1. Chapter 1

A/N It's been several years since I watched Yu-Gi-Oh! and therefore my canon details may not be up to snuff; I also watched the Japanese version so I will use the Japanese names.  
This story is placed 5 years after the final battle and is largely told from Bakura's perspective, though it is in 3rd person. I have plans for a large portion of this story to be based around Bakura and Marik dealing with Marik's other personality and rated T Thiefshipping, just as a heads up.

* * *

The silenced news program playing at the local department store informed him that roughly five years had passed since he had last found himself roaming the streets of Domino, Japan. He wandered through the aisles without much rhyme or reason, looking just to kill time more than anything. Upon leaving the store, he shot a disingenuous smile at the clearly underpaid security guard keeping watch for petty thieves or other hooligans. Once outside, he pulled an apple out of his pocket and took a bite; it was too easy to get supplies around here, though he wasn't complaining. He had enough on his mind to deal with any escape theatrics over something as meaningless as breakfast. One glance at his cheap, prepaid phone to check the time made him sigh; it was hardly even noon. The bastard wouldn't be home from work until at least four.

He settled for his second favorite hobby – people watching. Sitting down at an empty park bench that had seen better days, he took the final bite of his apple and threw the core over his shoulder. A child ran by him, playing with a toy airplane as another pursued her, insisting her turn was done and she had to share. An older man in athletic attire jogged by, wheezing slightly from lack of breath. Countless others passed him, paying no mind to his presence. Impressive how little had changed, he thought, that he was unleashed on the world again and it made no effect on anyone. He allowed his mind to wander. Did his old enemy get the same second chance at life, was this even the same world he left, or some cruel trick designed by the gods, and was he to discover there was nothing left for him here – not that there was much in the first place. Not anymore, his job was done and he had failed.

Pulling himself out from his thoughts, he smirked slightly as a familiar figure walked by, talking animatedly to the woman accompanying him, completely oblivious to the world around them. The silver-haired boy beamed at his partner, something about how she'd done well on her midterm in chemistry. Or something. He didn't particularly care about their conversation; enough was said in their body language. The way they smiled at each other and their hands brushed swiftly conveyed they were dating. The eavesdropper went unnoticed as the pair continued on their path through the park as they had every day for the last four days.

Impressive how he could have missed seeing his own body looking back at him. Pathetic kid, really, nothing has changed. Absolutely anyone should notice that much. It's not like he didn't stand out.

The boy, an exact clone of the person who'd just walked by, stood up with an annoyed sigh. He'd been back in the city for several days now and scoped out how his old landlord and partner in crime were doing, needing some information on their going-ons as of late considering how long he'd been gone. Some would call it stalking, but Bakura didn't. Stalking implied an obsession, which was much too unbecoming - he considered it simple observation.

Enough time had passed and Bakura grew bored, deciding now would be a great time to pay his old friend a visit.

* * *

_Knock knock_

The albino tapped his knuckles against the door.

No response. He sighed.

**_Knock knock_**

Harder this time.

Growing irritated, Bakura briefly wondered if the apartment was unoccupied before raising his hand to beat against the door again. He stopped short as he finally heard movement on the other side. Two locks slid before the door was hesitantly opened.

Marik held Bakura's gaze for approximately five seconds before slamming the door in his face.

Bakura chuckled as his foot held the door slightly ajar, "That's no way to treat your old partner, is it?"

The Egyptian growled through the cracked door, "Fuck off, Bakura, shouldn't you be dead?"

"Yes."

"Then piss off. I've rather enjoyed not having you around bothering me."

"Pity." The albino narrowed his eyes and forced his way through the door.

Marik simply glared at the other man as he was forced to step back from the doorway. Having decided not to get into a physical altercation with the home invader, he turned and walked back to the kitchen to continue preparing his dinner. "How'd you find me?"

"You act like you're hard to find," Bakura snorted. He leaned against the far wall from where Marik stood in the kitchen. It was true Marik stood out amongst his peers with his tanned skin and light blond hair; he didn't look in the least bit Japanese. He was a clear outsider. Not to mention the dramatic gold jewelry he often wore.

"I am. I changed my name and moved."

"Changed your name?" a silver eyebrow rose, "Why in the hell would you do that? You stand out; I doubt you can hide yourself that easily from anyone."

Marik moved a pan between burners a bit too aggressively, causing him to pause a moment to check for any damage, "I'm a wanted criminal, Bakura, you know that. They still haven't found the leader of the Ghouls."

Bakura chuckled, "That still doesn't answer my question, Ishtar."

Several moments passed as Marik chopped a few vegetables and added them to the pan, "My face was never revealed, only my name. Easy fix. The police are a joke around here."

"Any intelligent criminal would skip town." That earned another glare.

"I stuck around to keep an eye on Ryou."

Bakura rolled his eyes, though the tan boy did not see. There was silence as Marik finished cooking and poured the food onto two plates. He set the second across the table from him before seating himself and beginning to eat.

"I don't eat vegetables," Bakura grumbled slightly as he joined Marik at the table. There wasn't any response, so he begrudgingly picked up a set of chopsticks and took a bite. It was edible, to say the least.

Several minutes passed. "I'm assuming you've been back a while if you're hungry enough to eat that." The two locked eyes for a brief second, Bakura debating how much information he was willing to offer.

"It's been just over two weeks," Bakura answered before shoving another bite of zucchini stuffed with rice into his mouth, "had to fly here from Egypt."

Marik nodded slightly and the silence returned. It wasn't an awkward silence by any means and Bakura appreciated how little he was questioned, all things considered. It was much Marik's way to never interrogate him, his partner understood what it was like to not want to offer up every piece of information. That was one of the reasons they could get along.

"I did die," Bakura continued, "when the items were destroyed - you know that much. It seems I was too much of a bother to the gods; they didn't know what to do with me." He paused to chuckle darkly, "and they seem to have quite the sense of humor, putting me back in an identical body to my old landlord."

Marik set his chopsticks down and rested his forehead against a loose fist, clearly distraught. Bakura smirked slightly as he continued to eat. That would be quite the surprise to hear; he'd wait for Marik to process it. The boy could be quite slow sometimes.

"You aren't possessing Ryou anymore, then?" the blond mumbled into his shoulder.

"Nope, the little brat's completely fine. He doesn't even know I'm here."

Marik hummed slightly in disbelief as he reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping at the screen briefly before raising it to his ear. Bakura met his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, hi, Ryou. I was calling to check if you were free this weekend, your midterms are this week, right?" Marik's voice was clearly strained with fake friendliness to cover the shock that quickly crossed his features. He was surprised Ryou answered.

Bakura couldn't make out what the voice said on the other line, only hearing a slight mumble of a too familiar voice. He picked at the food in front of him as he wasn't starving anymore and therefore couldn't make himself continue to eat. Marik's vegetarian diet was very lackluster, in Bakura's opinion.

"Of course, you did tell me that. Sorry, Ryou, it must have slipped my mind," Bakura rolled his eyes and tapped his wrist as if to say 'hurry up,' "Sorry to cut this short, Ryou, but I need to finish cooking. Yeah. No, it's okay. Have a good night."

"Told you."

"I don't make it a habit to trust thieves at their word," Marik set his phone down a bit too harshly and began eating again. Bakura simply smirked at the pointed comment.

"You haven't changed in 5 years at all, have you," Bakura leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"I have," Marik glared at the revived demon in front of him, "I've made an honest living for myself; I'm not the same." He balled his hands into fists when Bakura snorted.

"You're playing Namu, huh? We both know that's not who you are. You're as much a manipulative murderer as I am."

"It is me, Bakura," Marik stood from the table and scraped the remainder of his meal into the trash before turning back to look at the smug thief still sitting at his table, "Legally, my name is Namu Kurata, I'm a motorcycle mechanic – the head mechanic at my shop, in fact - and," he trailed off for a second as his he wasn't sure he wanted to continue his thought, "…and I'm working on the multiple personality thing. I'm done being a criminal, I had my fun."

Bakura blinked several times, funnily enough acting more surprised than Marik did learning of his resurrection of sorts. He knew from his observations Marik's alias and job already but was surprised he willing brought up his other personality. He used to act like his other self never existed. What did 'working on' even mean? Was that psychotic bastard bothering him again? Surely not, this was definitely Marik sitting in front of him. Marik was like Ryou, neither had the power to take their bodies back from the other soul inside of them. "…I refuse to call you that," he finally said, referring to the alias.

"So long as you don't use my real name in public, I don't care" the Egyptian shrugged and grabbed Bakura's plate, clearing it in the trash before heading to the sink to begin working on the dishes.

Bakura watched him silently, having picked up on the underlying message in that sentence; Marik would let him stick around if he didn't mess up the boy's reputation.

"Well, I'm tired," Marik announced as he wiped his hands off on a towel, "I'm going to bed." He paused briefly before turning to fully face Bakura with a faint smile that lasted just a second, "Good to see you again, partner. You can have the room to the right. It's the guest room, but I don't have many visitors."

Bakura nodded at him, glancing where Marik gestured, "…'Preciate it, Ishtar."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N These chapters sure look a lot longer in Word than on this website.

* * *

"Bakura, for the love of Ra, wake the fuck up! It's nearly noon and if you want to come to the store with me to get something you'll eat, you'd best hurry up or I'm leaving you," Marik banged on the door of the guest room for the second time that morning. Bakura turned over on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head to shield himself from the idea of getting up. It had been three days since he'd arrived at Marik's apartment and they'd spent little time together. Marik, oh, sorry, **_Namu_** had been spending long hours at work, something about a big project he needed to get done on time. Bakura assumed he finished yesterday as Marik slept in today. Bakura had been up to his old tricks, taking late night strolls through the nearby neighborhoods, though he wasn't looking for anything in particular and rarely stole anything off passersby. The thief had been out until three that particular morning and would appreciate less obnoxious banging on his door when he was trying to sleep.

He heard Marik's overdramatized sounds of getting ready to leave, sounding as if he purposely slammed his hand on every surface he touched, "Alright, I'm leaving, enjoy starving to death, _Fluffy._" The last word was laced with smugness and amusement Bakura did not care for. He threw the covers off his body and stormed out the door into the living room. Marik's feigned surprise pissed him off even more; he grabbed the boy by his collar and held his face close threateningly. "What. Did. You. Call. Me?" he paused after each word to emphasize his irritation. He saw red when Marik burst out laughing and he roughly pushed the giggling bastard away.

"You can't threaten me with bedhead like that, Bakura," the slightly taller boy coughed out between laughs as he regained his footing, "You look absolutely ridiculous."

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Ishtar."

"Yeah, yeah, you can kill me after you brush your hair," Marik chuckled. Insulted and irritated, the wild-haired albino turned and headed towards their shared bathroom. "Oh, and Bakura," Marik called after him with an unusually sweet voice, causing him to turn around with a raised eyebrow, irritation almost forgotten for a brief second. He saw a small object fly at him and caught it easily. …A breath mint? "Do me a favor, your breath fucking stinks."

"Fuck off." The bathroom door slammed shut.

* * *

Marik sighed and leaned on the handle of the shopping cart, looking particularly irritated. Bakura kept making him backtrack, looking for food items they'd already passed once before and he claimed he didn't want. Said backtracker smirked to himself, proud to have properly annoyed his rude roommate enough out of revenge for this morning. Wandering back down the snack aisle for the 3rd time, Bakura grabbed a bag of chips, "Bakura, you already got a bag of those, do you eat anything other than junk food?"

Shooting Marik an irritated glance, he put the second bag back and continued down the aisle. He was about done with this little shopping adventure and was ready for lunch. When Marik caught back up to him, he grabbed the side of the cart with one hand and guided it towards the checkout lines in a silent order, his partner cooperated and was clearly relieved to be leaving. Setting the items on the conveyor belt, Bakura noticed there was a second bag of chips and raised an eyebrow at Marik, "I thought we were restricted to one bag, **_Namu_**," he drew out the alias with amusement.

"Hm. Don't worry about it," Marik shrugged off the statement. Interesting, Marik wasn't typically so dismissive. They finished checking out, the thief refraining from commenting even once on how tedious the process of _paying_ was, and both worked to safely secure the haul to Marik's motorcycle.

"Still want to stop for lunch on the way home?" Marik asked, tossing the second helmet to his friend.

"I want a kebab." Bakura waited for Marik to get on the bike first then climbed on behind him. After the ignition started and the bike was rocked off its kickstand, Marik looked over his shoulder and jerked his head forward slightly, giving a silent order for Bakura to hold on.

There was no room for conversation over the roar of the engine and the whipping wind. Marik drove much too aggressively for Bakura's taste and the thief found himself clinging tighter to him as they made a sharp turn. When they pulled into a parking spot, Bakura jumped off before the bike even propped up on the kickstand, earning a chuckle from its operator, "I'm not a bad driver, don't be such a wimp."

The pale boy crossed his arms indignantly, deeming the statement unworthy of a response. He started towards the small shop, not bothering to wait for Marik to finish brushing out his hair with his fingers in his side mirror. He picked out two drinks from the refrigerator while he waited in line, Marik finally deciding to appear as he was next to order, they quickly ordered and were handed their food after Marik paid. The two found a seat in the corner near an open window and ate in comfortable silence.

"I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning so I won't be around to wake you up early," Marik announced, taking a sip of soda.

"What's wrong with you?" the response was mumbled around a bite of lamb, earning a slight glare of irritation.

"Nothing's _wrong_, it's just monitoring, I try to go once a week."

"Monitoring?" A silver eyebrow was raised.

"Yes, monitoring." Marik's reply was curt, clearly not wanting to elaborate further and pointedly taking a large bite of falafel to declare the conversation finished. Bakura smirked slightly at this, taking it as a challenge. He ate the final bite of his kabab, propped both his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his knuckles in an admittedly childish manner. Marik met his eyes and sighed deeply when he realized the topic wasn't going to be dropped so easily. Bakura's grin grew when he raised a tanned finger to say 'wait' and took another sip of soda.

"It's therapy, alright?" Marik grumbled, setting the glass bottle down, "Happy?"

Bakura's smirk faltered slightly, not having expected that answer and almost felt regret for pushing the topic. Almost. "Not quite. Why do you need to talk to some doctor every week?" He wasn't an idiot, he knew Marik wasn't right in the head; however, he wanted to know what exactly ailed him to the point of getting medical help.

"Well," Marik started, clearly irritated, "since you've been gone, I was formally diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder at my siblings' request, and they threatened to move from Cairo to Domino if they caught wind of me not getting treated for it." At Bakura's blank stare, he elaborated "It's a fancy name for multiple personalities."

"Can they fix it?"

Marik scoffed and took a bite of food, "Not likely, the goal right now is just to try to prevent switching."

"You aren't taking any medication for it, though?" Marik froze, his eyes snapping up to meet Bakura's, "Why would you say that?"

"Well, for one, you reacted like that," the thief chuckled darkly, "and two, I have been here for days and not seen one pill bottle other than aspirin and vitamin gummies."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Marik declared suddenly, starting to stand up from his chair. Bakura grabbed his arm harshly and glared up at him, "Sit."

Marik pulled his arm away from his grip but begrudgingly obeyed, sitting down again and glancing around the room to avoid eye contact with the demon in front of him.

"Does your doctor know you aren't taking any medicine?" Marik shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his silence answering the question well enough. "And why not?" Bakura's tone was that of a disappointed parent and it clearly irritated the Egyptian to be talked down to.

"…It fucks with my head, I don't want to take it," Marik grumbled, cursing himself for sounding so childish, "I've been fine with just the therapy, she's keeping an eye on me. If it ever gets bad I can just start taking it again. No big deal."

Bakura leaned across the table and hissed, "_No big deal?_ That psycho personality of yours tried to kill us and very nearly succeeded." Marik flinched and fell silent for a few moments as Bakura sat upright again. The Egyptian opened and closed his mouth several times as if debating if he wanted to say something, "Spit it out already."

"…You don't want to hear what I have to say," Marik crossed his arms and looked at nothing on the far wall. Bakura drummed his fingers against the wood of the table impatiently. "…He's been talking to me, and before you lunge over this table to strangle me," Marik held up a finger asking for patience as Bakura prepared to do just that, "he's different than he used to be. I'm kind of…okay with the way things are between us."

"Now I just want to hit you all the more, to smack some sense into that empty skull of yours," Bakura growled through clenched teeth. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

Marik snorted, "That's rich, coming from you."

"Point taken; regardless, you're being an absolute idiot about this," both boys crossed their arms stubbornly.

"Let's finish this conversation at home; we still have groceries that need to get put away. This was supposed to be a quick stop," Marik stood again, this time he was allowed to grab both of their trash and he went to throw it away in the provided trash cans. Bakura followed closely behind, his eyes burning holes into the back of his empty, blond head.

When the two arrived back home, Bakura closed the front door with more malice than necessary and slid the locks into place. He helped Marik put away the food in tense silence, waiting until the chore was done to pick a fight. He was a reasonable tyrant, he thought to himself. He stood in and blocked the only doorway out of the kitchen and crossed his arms. Though Marik was physically taller and stronger than he was, Bakura was much more skilled in fighting. This earned a short, sad glance from Marik; he raised his hands in mock surrender, bowed his head slightly, and cleared his face of emotion, "He wants to talk to you."

That was possibly the only sentence Marik could have said Bakura did not have a response to. Marik almost laughed at his genuinely flabbergasted expression.

Bakura opened his mouth a few times, cautious of how he wanted to respond to such an outrageous request. If Marik is telling the truth about this whole situation and about talking with his alter, the fact that his other self requested to speak to him meant he isn't alone when he's with Marik. Everything he says is being overheard and he did not like that realization one bit. He ground his teeth together and sighed deeply. "If he takes over, will you come back?"

"Yes. It's very easy to switch, now. It doesn't even hurt that much anymore." Bakura absolutely _loathed_ that answer and Marik bit his lip nervously, realizing too late that probably wasn't a smart thing to say. Bakura balled his hands into fists and found his voice again, his next words dripping with malice.

"I'll talk to him."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'll talk to him."

Marik took a deep breath and shuffled from foot to foot; he was clearly uncomfortable and put on the spot. His head bobbed left and right and his lips moved slightly as if he were talking to himself. Clearly, he was. Bakura could tell he didn't often switch on command like this, and especially not for an audience. Bakura held his breath involuntarily as the Egyptian suddenly stumbled backward, his hands cradling his head as if he were in pain.

When he stood upright again, it really did seem like a different person. He stretched his arms over his head and twisted his neck back and forth a few times as if he were unaccustomed to a human form and was testing its mobility. He cracked his knuckles and let his hands drop to his sides, going completely still. His eyes moved as if he were having a relatively involved conversation that had nothing to do with the person in front of him but otherwise was frozen solid. Bakura assumed it was harder for this personality to control the body, as Marik could move like normal when he was talking to his alter; except for just now, Bakura couldn't even tell when he was doing it. His hair was obviously not immediately spiking into large points to seemingly escape its own body as he had last seen this personality - he must have spent some time to style his hair that way during Battle City. His posture was much more relaxed than Marik's, his neutral expression no longer held Marik's usual dramatic demand for respect and attention; it was softer now, something Bakura didn't expect, more genuine and less guarded. His eyes were naturally set in a glare but malice was not otherwise being conveyed. His stance was wider and there was something in the aura about him, like he was a force to be reckoned with. Bakura found himself looking back to his face after studying him for some time and met intelligent, aware eyes staring back at him with undivided attention.

It was hard to describe looking into the eyes of a monster who stole his friend's body.

"Long time no see," Bakura flinched instinctively at Marik's voice, cursing himself inwardly for allowing fear to cross his features for even a second. He paused, no, it wasn't Marik's voice. It was an octave or two deeper, it didn't hold the sarcastic charm it usually had; this voice belonged to a stranger, it was blunt and held a dark humor Marik could only wish to achieve. This voice sent chills up Bakura's spine. This was the voice of a dangerous animal.

Marik, no _Marik's head _tilted in thought, a wide grin spread across _his_ face, "What is the matter, Bakura? Cat got your tongue?"

Bakura finally snapped out of his thoughts. He hardened his glare and clenched his fists, "Why are you still here?" his voice dripped venom.

_Marik_ seemed to take no offense to Bakura's tone, his expression unchanging. It was as if a robot had been trained to act human but wasn't quite in the realm of believability yet, the way this creature held poses and expressions for too long without moving. "Why would I not be here? You lost the duel and Marik needs me."

Torn between which parts of that sentence irritated Bakura more, he set his jaw and growled, "Marik does not need you."

A laugh that could most certainly not be considered human sent shivers down Bakura's spine, everything about this encounter was triggering Bakura's fight or flight response and god damn did he want to attack this monster. "You could not be more wrong, 'Kura. Marik created me. I am everything Marik wishes he could be." The beast abusing Marik's vocal cords gestured broadly at himself as if to make his point, "I am strong. I am reliable. I am protective. I am able to execute difficult decisions for us. If it was not for me, we would still be in that gods-forsaken tomb!"

Bakura saw red and took two steps towards the animal disguised in human flesh, "You tried to kill him."

_Marik_ waved a hand dismissively, "I knew he could not die in that battle, Bakura, do not be foolish. I even knew you would not be killed, so take no further offense. I have no desire to be the only personality, or even the dominant one. Everyday life is so…boring."

"Somehow, I don't believe a damn word you're saying," the pale boy glared up at the creature in front of him.

"Why is it my problem that you are dense and distrustful?" Bakura hated that unapologetic grin.

_Marik_ took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender and bowing his head slightly. It was far too similar to how the _other _Marik did, not even ten minutes before. Bakura was almost too distracted by the shocking juxtaposition to listen to what he was saying "-no desire to hurt you or Marik, no matter how much you insist I do. What do I have to gain from that? Nothing." _Marik_ paused, his face lost all of its humor and turned stoic. "I have nothing to gain from hurting Marik, but I have everything to lose. If Marik takes that damned medicine, I can never have any influence over him or this body again. It will not kill me, but it will torture me. Compare it to your imprisonment in the Ring, for context."

Bakura's anger flared again, his tone venomous, "Do not compare me to _you." _

"But are we not similar?" _Marik_ stepped towards him, his hands held up, palms facing his opponent in submission to not incite violence, "Demons possessing vessels that do not belong to us, bodies that we are forced to help keep alive as our own or lose what little view and influence of the world we have been given. And, even now, we share a goal – to keep Marik alive and well."

Bakura resisted every urge he has in his body to punch him square in the jaw. That wouldn't just hurt this Marik, but the other one as well. He paused. On second thought, they both deserved it. He still refrained and managed to calm his raging temper, "…I will admit you make a fair point."

"You see now why Marik is not threatened by me any longer?" His eyes sparkled in a way that was disturbing when combined with his other features; it was almost like a childish hopefulness. Bakura was taken aback, forced to remember that this version of Marik was only eleven years old despite how educated he was.

"No." Bakura was blunt and took small amusement in watching _Marik's_ face fall into an annoyed frown, "You said it yourself, you're a demon."

"As are you."

"I was a demon, my soul was merged with a creature of great darkness. In my current state, I gained my humanity again," Bakura stood tall, a smirk playing across his lips, "You were created from darkness and will never be the same as me."

"Does Marik know of that?" _Marik_ asked suddenly, an intelligent grin growing on his face and Bakura felt as if he walked straight into a trap.

"Surely he must, he was a Tomb keeper of the Pharaoh."

_Marik_ tisked condescendingly, "So, you never told him." At Bakura's sharp glare, he continued, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, 'Kura, but I have any potentially negative memories not on a need-to-know basis from his birth to his tenth birthday. He never did like the story of Kul Elna as a child - too sad – he willingly gave that away when I was born. He knows not of the legends surrounding the origin of the Sennen Items, the Great Thief King Bakura, or the Final Battle that took place when the tragic hero Tozokou Bakura with his awesome Ka, Diabound was slain by the almighty Pharaoh."

Bakura's eyes widened in shock, it had never occurred to him that Marik wouldn't know his past in detail, he was the heir to the Tomb Keepers; he had to have known the history. But he didn't. So many pieces connected now. Marik knew almost nothing about him, while this evil creation knew it all.

Marik didn't know why he left five years ago. Marik didn't know he failed his only mission in life. Would he think differently of him if he knew? Would Marik pity him? The mere thought made him seethe.

"I did not even mention the best part; our dear Marik never even knew he was teamed up with the spirit vessel of the Great Evil God Zorc Necrophades," the demon declared loudly, his expression filled with intelligence and spiteful amusement, his arms raised to his sides for dramatic effect. "Oh, how our ancestors must have turned in their graves! He is naturally drawn to the darkness, Thief King, I already told you how he created me of his own free will, a version of himself that he viewed as a hero. A savior. And now you return to him as well, possibly the only human soul who has seen the darkest depths of calamity and evil."

Several long, silent moments passed as Bakura processed the information he'd been given. "What's your point?" his voice was stern but devoid of any real bite.

_Marik_ laughed maniacally, "My _point_, Thief King, is that I am the least of Marik's concerns. You have always been a far greater threat to his life. Even without Zorc's presence, you are a menace to him. If you want me to leave him, then you must leave him as well."

Never had the great Thief King lost in a duel of words, and especially never to an occupant of the body in front of him. _Marik_ led him straight into a trap of knowledge. He was far more intelligent, manipulative, and cunning than he had ever given him credit for. He really was everything Marik ever had aspired to be. But, he no longer was, Marik no longer lived a life of crime, he wanted to experience the world he'd been locked away from. He's changed, but this person is still, regretfully, a part of him.

"You have no intention of taking Marik's life from him and locking him away?" _Marik_ smiled in a way that could almost be described as warm if only his eyes didn't betray his spiteful soul.

"Of course not, I'd be a failure as a guardian if I allowed that to happen to him," the thief king could not pick up even the slightest trace of a lie in that statement. He sighed, "All right. I will not encourage him to be rid of you under two conditions."

"Your wish is my command, Great Thief King," _Marik_ bowed deeply, the sarcasm impossible to overlook.

"…Three conditions," Bakura amended with a look of gross irritation, "The first is that you cannot hurt Marik in any way, shape, or form, even if you know he will not die." _Marik_ nodded, suddenly genuine. "Two – if you are listening to Marik and I talking or are otherwise present you need to give me some kind of sign to let me know when you arrive and when you leave so I know who I'm talking to. Are you able to, I don't know, control his hand for a short period and snap three times?"

The Egyptian snorted in laughter at the request, "I can briefly control a part of the body if Marik allows it; however, Marik can snap, I cannot." He proved half of that statement with a pathetic attempt at snapping his fingers. Bakura briefly wondered what other talents the two did not share. "I can wave a hand, is that obvious enough? I assume you would not want me to speak." He displayed a basic, wide-arching wave with his left hand.

Bakura resisted the urge to grimace at the idea of suddenly hearing this voice in the midst of a conversation with the other Marik, "No, I certainly do not want you to speak." This statement earned a grin, "The wave is probably fine, we can change it later if we need to." After another nod of understanding, he continued.

"The third condition is that you need a different name." _Marik's _eyes widened in surprise, "It's too confusing to call you both Marik. He was born first, so he gets to keep the name."

"But he already chose a different name," the Egyptian's tone was almost whining, causing Bakura to roll his eyes in irritation.

"That's a different matter. My condition is you go by a different name than Marik."

"How about Malik?"

"Too similar, no."

The now nameless male tilted his head and his eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought. "Melvin?" Bakura offered with a smirk, earning a sharp glare from the other male, "No, I hate it. I would never be taken seriously."

Bakura fell silent as he allowed the nameless creature to ponder. When he made up his mind, he met the thief's eyes with a pleased grin. "Ata."

"Ata?"

"Yeah, it is Arabic for 'gift' but I heard in another language it translates to 'twin'. We met an Ata in Egypt, once. He was not Arabic; he was from some other African country, Ghana, perhaps? He was not a twin, though, so it was not a good name. Marik killed him, but he was a decent guy when he was alive."

Bakura chuckled, taken a bit off guard how Ata could transition so quickly from a terrifying, inhuman opponent to a rambling child, "Those are my conditions."

"I accept your conditions under the condition you do not try to kill or suppress my personality," Ata grinned and offered his hand. Bakura shook his hand and announced the deal was closed. A small smile crossed his features for a moment, feeling he might actually like this psychotic bastard if for no other reason than as a great verbal opponent.

"Now that that is decided and you are no longer angry at my charge, I am going to sleep. You might want to catch him," Ata winked at Bakura seconds before completely collapsing to the floor as if every bone in his body suddenly turned to jelly. The thief king moved swiftly and sloppily caught the lifeless body centimeters before hitting the ground. The bastard could have sat down first; he obviously knew this would happen. Bakura was midway between cradling the limp body and propping his arm around his shoulder to move him to a chair when Marik's eyes blinked open several times before finally realizing he was being held up by his pale friend and quickly shot to his feet. "-I..so," he cleared his throat to clear the embarrassed stutter, "…What happened?"


End file.
